


my lucifer is lonely

by llien



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels, Devotion, Fallen Angels, First Kiss, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 04:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20594753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llien/pseuds/llien
Summary: Then, he happened to cast his gaze from the skies unto the earth, and sawhim.Sora knew instantly — in that single, tight-strung wire of electric realization and recognition as eyes the color of burning sun locked onto his — that this was falling.





	my lucifer is lonely

**Author's Note:**

> Based off Mim's art, and for her. Thank you for always being there for me to cry over sovani with ♥ I hope you enjoy this!!

Sora cocked his head from where he sat perched on concrete. The moon was out, lovely and full and heavy, and Sora had been perfectly content to stargaze, imaging he could pluck each glittering jewel out to cup in his hands and maybe sprinkle elsewhere. He’d been wondering, in a distant, lazy way, if he could plant the stars and somehow grow them. Wondering what their blossoms would look like. He thought they’d be rather like moonbeams.

Then, he happened to cast his gaze from the skies unto the earth, and saw _him._

Sora knew instantly — in that single, tight-strung wire of electric realization and recognition as eyes the color of burning sun locked onto his — that this was falling.

Of course, Sora was quite used to ignoring troubling things. He shelved this thought among countless jars of other unpalatable things, and cocked his head to the other side. He couldn’t break that gaze quite yet, and even five landings up and with the moon between them, the figure rising from the darkness didn’t hesitate. Sora knew instantly he was _ other, _body lean and tightly wound, eyes furious and bright. No human had eyes like that. 

Sora kicked his feet, wings perking up and fluttering with anticipation behind him, always so honest. With a heavy downswing, his wings carried him up, Sora leaving the tall building to momentarily hover. He waited for a current before gliding down, and when he landed it took only a few controlled flaps to brace him as his feet touched down.

The figure hadn’t stopped watching him, sending a mild thrill through Sora. Sora, as far as angels and ethereal beings went, wasn’t entirely high on the list of magnanimous and awe-inspiring. He was a little like the runt, with brown-speckled feathers that had taken ages to grow into their natural glorious white, and though he had the eyes of all other angels, he couldn’t claim their brilliance or glory. He was just Sora, a little funny and a little small and maybe too forgiving, for not all angels held kindness in their hearts, but he found his flaws acceptable and was never too full of himself to not admire others.

Sora knew a fallen angel when he saw one. The wings drenched in perpetual oil, the smoldering gaze that spoke of vengeance and fury and disdain, even the finely tipped claws the gorgeous line of his body drew was all evidence pointing to the fact. The moonlight made him look soft though, not hard, but still dangerous. Enticing, like a shadowed path in the forest Sora _ knew _held a new adventure. 

But Sora was curious, and instead of gently placing that curiosity on the shelf he held it close, peering through it as if to find a kaleidoscope of magic.

Sora’s wings stretched and fluttered and ruffled as he tilted his head, admiring the stranger. They were alone in the night time, moon so high it was finally beginning to descend, and the parking lot had both scarce light and much of anything else. 

Sora knew he must’ve been a gorgeous angel. He could see the power in his languid body, in the sheer density of darkness and slick opalescent shimmering when the light hit him right. Only his face was saved the descent, clear and familiar, a gentle sloping nose and lips pursed with an arrogance Sora recognized in all other-beings. Despite the hatred in his sun-eyes, Sora found his lips soft, his lashes thick and heavy, and his hair was drenched with darkness, droplets sliding down the curve of his cheek. 

He cocked his hip, finely tipped nails resting on it as he tilted his chin up. Sora jumped when he spoke, wings fluttering to hide his feet in a nervous habit.

“What do you want?”

His voice was like leather, soft but firm, something Sora wished he could somehow touch with his hands. Still, he shook off his mute admiration to meet his eclipsed eyes. That faint light haloing his irises was so pretty — it fascinated Sora like a shiny rock in a riverbed. 

“I was wondering who came to visit,” Sora said, head tilting to the other side as he investigated further. Figuring he was being rude, Sora straightened up and swept his wings back, pointing at himself. “I’m Sora!”

His lips pursed more, heavy lashes fluttering down and then up as he dragged his eyes along Sora. It felt… _ more. _Not perfunctory, but with the gaze of someone starving. Sora felt suddenly aware of how he stood, of how his shirt draped along his skin, of the open splay of his collar when his gaze lingered there, and then of his lips. 

“Hn,” he said. _ “Sky,” _ he added with a snort, then he shifted his weight, thighs flexing in their skin-tight darkness as his other hand came up to splay his fingers across his sternum. “I’m Vanitas. Now, what does the light want with me? I got the _ message.” _Vanitas sneered. His wings flexed behind him, heavier and denser than Sora’s, thick with plumage that Sora imagined he could run his entire hand through. Vanitas spread his wings further, oil and tar dripping from the feathers in fat lingering touches, tendrils connecting them to others and reluctant to fall apart until they nearly hit the ground. There was several pretty puddles where Vanitas stood, the light playing rainbows across their opaque surface. 

“The light?” Sora asked. “I don’t know anything about that. I was just sitting here when I saw you. Hey, does it hurt?”

Vanitas blinked, wings coming to a close tight against his back and he leaned away. His face was a stunning contrast against the swimming pitch-black liquid he was drenched in, smears of it just creeping along his jaw. All of his neck, hair, chest, stomach, down his thighs and calves and even to the tips of his fingers was covered in sopping tar, or oil. It was always a little hard to define darkness, and Sora struggled even more when it was this _ pretty. _ He wanted to swirl his fingers around in it, disturb the oil-slick shine of it. He knew it meant his hands would get dirty, but he never minded spreading his hands through warm-dark- _ living _-soil before and he didn’t think he’d mind this.

Vanitas frowned, “Does _ what _hurt?”

“This,” Sora said, reaching out to finally glide his fingertips along Vanitas’ bicep, but Vanitas was quick to shy away, wings immediately flaring out behind him in a threatening display.

“Don’t touch me!” He hissed. Sora reluctantly dropped his hand, but he wasn’t too deterred. He wished Vanitas didn’t seem so scared, though. When Sora didn’t make any more moves to advance, he relaxed minutely. “Of course it hurts. It _ burns.” _

Sora considered this, then asked, “Is that why you didn’t want me to touch it?”

“What?” Vanitas looked at him like Sora was short a few marbles. Sora rather liked marbles anyways. He couldn’t help it, being fascinated by the mundane. To Sora, they were all interesting and new and shiny. “No, you idiot, what do I care if it hurts you? I don’t want you touching _ me.” _

“Huh,” Sora said, not quite surprised. Most of the people he knew were like that. “If it hurts, why do you stay there?”

Vanitas rolled his eyes, wings finally relaxing as he crossed his arms. Sora risked a tiny step closer while he was distracted. “Being up there is boring, and anyways it’s not like I have a choice. I was cast out, thrown away, considered tarnished—” with each reason Vanitas waved his fingers, “yada-yada. I’m not _ wanted _so why go back?”

Sora’s brow furrowed, watching the expressive display. “There’s no way no one at all wanted you.”

“What, you think you know better?” Vanitas laughed, rich and rolling and cruel, “I’m the failure who couldn’t measure up. Everyone always wants golden, blue-eyed, _ glorious,” _and he pointedly glared at Sora, who blinked his blue eyes, “not me.”

Hidden between the words, small and wounded, was the confession: _ I’m not good enough, so why try? _

“And what’s it to you?” Vanitas demanded, stepping forward suddenly, and with Sora’s earlier approach it left almost no space between them. Sora’s wings came up nervously, feathers trembling, but he couldn’t tell what was making him tense, leaning forward nonetheless. Vanitas’ eyes swept down him again, lingering as it dragged back up, and Sora shivered, “Why do you even care?” He was so close, the whisper of his words landed on Sora’s cheek, breath warm. Sora could raise his hands and slide them along his chest if he wanted. He kind of wanted to, even though he knew it’d scald him.

“I’m curious,” Sora said honestly, “you don’t look that different from me, so I wanna know what it’s like.”

Vanitas’ eyes seemed to glow brighter at that, soft gold, molten, and Sora felt the world fall away. “Oh? Pretty angel wants to play with darkness?”

Sora hadn’t really thought that far. He wanted to know the story, about the fall, about what had made him so afraid. He wanted to know if maybe Vanitas was like Sora, brushed aside for his imperfections. He wanted to know what it took to find himself. 

It was always easy for Sora to be honest. 

“I just wanna know you.”

He could hear Vanitas’ breath catch, and then, slowly, as if waiting for Sora to pull away, Vanitas reached up. That same curiosity Sora felt was reflected in Vanitas’ sun-eyes, gaze flickering all over Sora’s face, growing hotter, focusing and pupils dilating. Sora wondered if he should feel nervous, or afraid, but all he felt was the thrill of freedom.

Black fingers landed on his cheek. Sora didn’t know if this was what Vanitas meant by burning, but it felt as if a line of liquid heat had been touched there, following the trail of his fingers, and when his nails dipped down, their thin scratch made him shudder, eyes closing. Vanitas inhaled sharply.

“I’ve heard,” Vanitas whispered, thumb dragging to rest on Sora’s chin, fine pinprick of nail just barely grazing his bottom lip, “that your touch can help.”

“C-can it?” Sora managed, eyes fluttering open. He reached up without thinking, fingers closing around Vanitas’ wrist, skin slick and wet. 

Vanitas took a deep shuddering breath, eyes momentarily squeezing shut before he opened them, hazy and unfocused. “I don’t know — but I want to find out.”

Sora stared, and the shelf full of jars was rattling, all their consequences and warnings and pleas swelling into a cacophony in his ears as he stared at the being of darkness before him. Instead of listening, he parted his lips, catching Vanitas’ thumb, and nodded.

Vanitas seemed captivated, pressing the full weight of his thumb into Sora’s lip before dragging it away. His other hand came up, sliding hot and possessive around Sora’s neck, spanning his nape to his jugular, and he titled Sora’s head up as he leant down, lips touching gently.

He was warm, hot even, somehow surprising Sora. All the darkness seemed to imply an absence of warmth but instead it felt like the opposite, like a supernova was condensed inside him, barely fitting within the confines of his skin, and everywhere he touched Sora was like the lines were thinner, blurred, a frail boundary barely keeping it back. Sora pressed back insistently, eyes falling shut and hands rising to settle on Vanitas’ hips, grip sliding and slipping before finding purchase as he gripped him tight, closer.

Vanitas made a tiny sound, and the hand under his chin dragged up to nestle in his hair, pulling tight enough to make Sora’s eyes smart, the pain bleeding out into pleasure instantly. He was hot, so hot it made Sora feel like gasping, wincing from a blast of steam that enveloped him, but he felt held still, trapped in an embrace he didn’t want to leave in the first place.

Something tightly coiled was slipping loose, drawn away in trickles and streams and threatening to burst entirely free, and Sora was burning up, lungs begging for breath to sate the avaricious fire consuming him whole as he pressed closer, chest sliding against Vanitas’.

Vanitas pulled back with a gasp, forehead knocking against Sora’s, and Sora pulled in a ragged, desperate breath, eyes still closed. Vanitas wouldn’t let go, pressing another kiss, twice, three times, Sora meeting him eagerly, until finally he calmed down, settling as he cradled Sora’s head. For a long moment, all Sora could hear was their breathing, slowing, and his own heartbeat, a furious riot in his ears. 

“I didn’t expect that,” Vanitas murmured, and Sora slowly opened his eyes to find him staring at Sora like he was a starving man. He kissed Sora’s cheek, closer to his mouth, then a simple, chaste press of lips against lips. 

“I-I didn’t either,” Sora said, still honest. He felt dazed, unable to focus. Vanitas was still warm around him, and Sora found he was content to stay there. He leaned forward to kiss Vanitas’ jaw, who titled his head obligingly. “Did it—” he licked his lips, felt Vanitas shiver, “did it help?”

Vanitas hummed, tugging Sora back, predatory hunger intent on him. “I want _ more.” _

Sora stared at him, his sun-eyes and black hair, his pretty lashes and sharp nails, his body pressed all along Sora’s, staining him black with darkness, and his desire, blatant and powerful and simple and all for _ Sora. _

Sora knew instantly that this was falling, and he didn’t care. Better to be wanted, he realized with a quiet sadness, than to be lonely.

He kissed Vanitas back, arching into his touch, and moaned when Vanitas grasped him tightly back.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just gotta write your faves kissing and having a good time.


End file.
